canoe! The water was as black as ink, and on the shores of the lake dead
men lit fires that twinkled in the darkness like the eyes of a wicked
old witch. Awful shrieks and whistling echoed over the water, and the
heron flapped about the marshes to tell all the evil beings who lived
there that Hiawatha was coming to fight with the great wizard.
Hiawatha sailed over this dismal lake all night long, and at last, when
the sun rose, he saw on the shore in front of him the wigwam of the
great magician, Pearl-Feather. The canoe darted ahead faster and faster
until it grated on the beach, and Hiawatha fitted an arrow to his
bowstring and sent it hissing into the open doorway of the wigwam.
"Come out and fight me, Pearl-Feather!" cried Hiawatha; "come out and
fight me if you dare!"
Then Pearl-Feather stepped out of his wigwam and stood in the open
before Hiawatha. He was painted red and yellow and blue and was terrible
to see. In his hand was a heavy war-club, and he wore a shirt of shining
wampum that would keep out an arrow and break the force of any blow.
"Well do I know you, Hiawatha!" shouted Pearl-Feather in a deep and
awful voice. "Go back to Nokomis, coward that you are; for if you stay
here, I will kill you as I killed her father."
"Words are not as sharp as arrows," answered Hiawatha, bending his bow.
Then began a battle even more terrible than the one among the mountains
when Hiawatha fought with Mudjekeewis, and it lasted all one summer's
day. For Hiawatha's arrows could not pierce Pearl-Feather's shirt of
wampum, and he could not break it with the blows of his magic mittens.
At sunset Hiawatha was so weary that he leaned on his bow to rest. His
heavy war-club was broken, his magic mittens were torn to pieces, and he
had only three arrows left. "Alas," sighed Hiawatha, "the great magician
is too strong for me!"
Suddenly, from the branches of the tree nearest him, he heard the
woodpecker calling to him: "Hiawatha, Hiawatha," said the woodpecker,
"aim your arrows at the tuft of hair on Pearl-Feather's head. Aim them
at the roots of his long black hair, for there alone can you do him any
harm." Just then Pearl-Feather stooped to pick up a big stone to throw
at Hiawatha, who bent his bow and struck Pearl-Feather with an arrow
right on the top of the head. Pearl-Feather staggered forward like a
wounded buffalo. "Twang!" went the bowstring again, and the wizard's
knees trembled beneath him, for the second arrow had struck in the same
spot as the first and had made the wound much deeper. A third arrow
followed swiftly, and Pearl-Feather saw the eyes of Death glare at him
from the darkness, and he fell forward on his face right at the feet of
Hiawatha and lay there dead.
Then Hiawatha called the woodpecker to him, and as a mark of gratitude
he stained the tuft of feathers on the woodpecker's head with the blood
of the dead Pearl-Feather, and the woodpecker wears his tuft of
blood-red feathers to this day.
Hiawatha took the shirt of wampum from the dead wizard as a sign of
victory, and from Pearl-Feather's wigwam he carried all the skins and
furs and arrows that he could find, and they were many. He loaded his
canoe with them and sped homeward over the pitch-water, past the dead
bodies of the fiery serpents until he saw Chibiabos and Kwasind and
Nokomis waiting for him on the shore. All the Indians assembled and gave
a feast in Hiawatha's honor, and they sang and danced for joy because
the great wizard would never again send sickness and death among them.
And Hiawatha took the red crest of the woodpecker to decorate his pipe,
for he knew that to the woodpecker his victory was due.
X
HIAWATHA'S WOOING
"WOMAN is to man as the cord is to the bow," thought Hiawatha. "She
bends him, yet obeys him; she draws him, yet she follows. Each is
useless without the other." Hiawatha was dreaming of the lovely maiden,
Minnehaha, whom he had seen in the country of the Dacotahs.
"Do not wed a stranger, Hiawatha," warned the old Nokomis; "do not
search in the east or in the west to win a bride. Take a maid of your
own people, for the homely daughter of a neighbor is like the pleasant
fire on the hearth-stone, while the stranger is cold and distant, like
the starlight or the light of the pale moon."
But Hiawatha only smiled and answered: "Dear Nokomis, the fire on the
hearth-stone is indeed pleasant and warm, but I love the starlight and
the moonlight better."
"Do not bring home an idle woman," said old Nokomis, "bring not home a
maiden who is unskilled with the needle and will neither cook nor sew!"
And Hiawatha answered: "Good Nokomis, in the land of the Dacotahs lives
the daughter of an Arrow-maker, and she is the most beautiful of all the
women in the world. Her name is Minnehaha, and I will bring her home to
do your bidding and to be your firelight, your moonlight, and your
starlight, all in one."
"Ah, Hiawatha," warned Nokomis, "bring not home a maid of the Dacotahs!
The Dacotahs are fierce and cruel and there is often war between our
tribe and theirs." Hiawatha laughed and answered: "I will wed a maid of
the Dacotahs, and old wars shall be forgotten in a new and lasting peace
that shall make the two tribes friends forevermore. For this alone would
I wed the lovely Laughing Water if there were no other reason."
Hiawatha left his wigwam for the home of the old Arrow-maker, and he ran
through the forest as lightly as the wind, until he heard the clear
voice of the Falls of Minnehaha.
At the sunny edges of the forest a herd of deer were feeding, and they
did not see the swift-footed runner until he sent a hissing arrow among
them that killed a roebuck. Without pausing, Hiawatha caught up the deer
and swung it to his shoulder, running forward until he came to the home
of the aged Arrow-maker.
The old man was sitting in the doorway of his wigwam, and at his side
were all his tools and all the arrows he was making. At his side, also,
was the lovely Minnehaha, weaving mats of reeds and water-rushes, and
the old man and the young maiden sat together in the pleasant contrast
of age and youth, the one thinking of the past, the other dreaming of
the future.
The old man was thinking of the days when with such arrows as he now was
making he had killed deer and bison, and had shot the wild goose on the
wing. He remembered the great war-parties that came to buy his arrows,
and how they could not fight unless he had arrow-heads to sell. Alas,
such days were over, he thought sadly, and no such splendid warriors
were left on earth.
The maiden was dreaming of a tall, handsome hunter, who had come one
morning when the year was young to purchase arrows of her father. He
had rested in their wigwam, lingered and looked back as he was leaving,
and her father had praised his courage and his wisdom. Would the hunter
ever come again in search of arrows, thought the lovely Minnehaha, and
the rushes she was weaving lay unfingered in her lap.
Just then they heard a rustle and swift footsteps in the thicket, and
Hiawatha with the deer upon his shoulders and a glow upon his cheek and
forehead stood before them in the sunlight.
"Welcome, Hiawatha," said the old Arrow-maker in a grave but friendly
tone, and Minnehaha's light voice echoed the deep one of her father,
saying: "Welcome, Hiawatha."
Together the old Arrow-maker and Hiawatha entered the wigwam, and
Minnehaha laid aside her mat of rushes and brought them food and drink
in vessels of earth and bowls of basswood. Yet she did not say a word
while she was serving them, but listened as if in a dream to what
Hiawatha told her father about Nokomis and Chibiabos and the strong man,
Kwasind, and the happiness and peace of his own people, the Ojibways.
Hiawatha finished his words by saying very slowly: "That this peace may
always be among us and our tribes become as brothers to each other, give
me the hand of your daughter, Minnehaha, the loveliest of women."
[Illustration: "PLEASANT WAS THE JOURNEY HOMEWARD"--_Page 199_]
The aged Arrow-maker paused before he answered, looked proudly at
Hiawatha and lovingly at his daughter, and then said:
"You may have her if she wishes it. Speak, Minnehaha, and let us know
your will."
The lovely Minnehaha seemed more beautiful than ever as she looked first
at Hiawatha and then at her old father. Softly she took the seat beside
Hiawatha, blushing as she answered: "I will follow you, my husband."
Thus did Hiawatha win the daughter of the ancient Arrow-maker. Together
he and his bride left the wigwam hand in hand and went away over the
meadows, while the old Arrow-maker with shaded eyes gazed after them and
called out sadly: "Good-bye, Minnehaha! Good-bye my lovely daughter!"
They walked together through the sunlit forest, and all the birds and
animals gazed at them from among the leaves and branches.
When they came to swift rivers, Hiawatha lifted Minnehaha and carried
her across, and in his strong arms she seemed lighter than a willow-leaf
or the plume upon his headgear. At night he cleared away the thicket and
built a lodge of branches; he made a bed of hemlock boughs and kindled a
fire of pine-cones before the doorway, and Adjidaumo, the squirrel,
climbed down from his nest and kept watch, while the two lovers slept
in their lodge beneath the stars.
XI
HIAWATHA'S WEDDING FEAST
A GREAT feast was prepared by Hiawatha to celebrate his wedding. That
the feast might be one of joy and gladness, the sweet singer Chibiabos
sang his love-songs; that it might be merry, the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis
danced his liveliest dances; and to make the wedding guests even more
content, Iagoo, the great boaster, told them a wonderful story. Oh, but
it was a splendid feast that Nokomis prepared at the bidding of
Hiawatha! She sent messengers with willow-wands through all the village
as a sign that all Ojibways were invited, and the wedding guests wore
their very brightest garments--rich fur robes and wampum-belts, beads of
many colors, paint and feathers and gay tassels. All the bowls at the
feast were made of white and shining basswood; all the spoons were made
of bison horn, as black as ink and polished until the black was as
bright as silver, and the Indians feasted on the flesh of the sturgeon
and the pike, on buffalo marrow and the hump of the bison and the haunch
of the red deer. They ate pounded meat called pemican and the wild rice
that grew by the river-bank and golden-yellow cakes of Indian corn. It
was a feast indeed!
But the kind host Hiawatha did not take a mouthful of all this tempting
food. Neither did Minnehaha nor Nokomis, but all three waited on their
guests and served them carefully until their wants were generously
satisfied. When all had finished, old Nokomis filled from an ample otter
pouch the red stone pipes with fragrant tobacco of the south, and when
the blue smoke was rising freely she said: "O Pau-Puk-Keewis, dance your
merry Beggar's Dance to please us, so the time may pass more pleasantly
and our guests may be more gay."
Pau-Puk-Keewis rose and stood amid the guests. He wore a white shirt of
doeskin, fringed with ermine and covered with beads of wampum. He wore
deerskin leggings, also fringed with ermine and with quills of Kagh, the
hedgehog. On his feet were buck-skin moccasins, richly embroidered, and
red foxes' tails to flourish while he danced were fastened to the heels.
A snowy plume of swan's down floated over his head, and he carried a gay
fan in one hand and a pipe with tassels in the other.
All the warriors disliked Pau-Puk-Keewis, and called him coward and
idler; but he cared not at all, because he was so handsome that all the
women and the maidens loved him. To the sound of drums and flutes and
singing voices Pau-Puk-Keewis now began the Dance of Beggars.
First he danced with slow steps and stately motion in and out of the
shadows and the sunshine, gliding like a panther among the pine-trees;
but his steps became faster and faster and wilder and wilder, until the
wind and dust swept around him as he danced. Time after time he leaped
over the heads of the assembled guests and rushed around the wigwam, and
at last he sped along the shore of the Big-Sea-Water, stamping on the
sand and tossing it furiously in the air, until the wind had become a
whirlwind and the sand was blown in great drifts like snowdrifts all
over the shore.
There they have stayed until this day, the great Sand Hills of the Nagow
Wudjoo.
When the Beggar's Dance was over, Pau-Puk-Keewis returned and sat down
laughing among the guests and fanned himself as calmly as if he had not
stirred from his seat, while all the guests cried out: "Sing to us,
Chibiabos, sing your love songs!" and Hiawatha and Nokomis said: "Yes,
sing, Chibiabos, that our guests may enjoy themselves all the more, and
our feast may pass more gayly!"
Chibiabos rose, and his wonderful voice swelled all the echoes of the
forest, until the streams paused in their courses, and the listening
beavers came to the surface of the water so that they might hear. He
sang so sweetly that his voice caused the pine-trees to quiver as if a
wind were passing through them, and strange sounds seemed to run along
the earth. All the Indians were spellbound by his singing, and sat as if
they had been turned to stone. Even the smoke ceased to rise from their
pipes while Chibiabos sang, but when he had ended they shouted with joy
and praised him in loud voices.
Iagoo, the mighty boaster, alone did not join in the roar of praise, for
he was jealous of Chibiabos, and longed to tell one of his great stories
to the Indians. When Iagoo heard of any adventure he always told of a
greater one that had happened to himself, and to listen to him, you
would think that nobody was such a mighty hunter and nobody was such a
valiant fighter as he. If you would only believe him, you would learn
nobody had ever shot an arrow half so far as he had, that nobody could
run so fast, or dive so deep, or leap so high, and that nobody in the
wide world had ever seen so many wonders as the brave, great, and
wonderful Iagoo.
This was the reason that his name had become a byword among the Indians;
and whenever a hunter spoke too highly of his own deeds, or a warrior
talked too much of what he had done in battle, his hearers shouted:
"See, Iagoo is among us!"
But it was Iagoo who had carved the cradle of Hiawatha long ago, and
who had taught him how to make his bow and arrows. And as he sat at the
feast, old and ugly but very eager to tell of his adventures, Nokomis
said to him: "Good Iagoo, tell us some wonderful story, so that our
feast may be more merry," and Iagoo answered like a flash: "You shall
hear the most wonderful story that has ever been heard since men have
lived upon the earth. You shall hear the strange and marvelous tale of
Osseo and his father, King of the Evening Star."
XII
THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR
"SEE the Star of Evening!" cried Iagoo; "see how it shines like a bead
of wampum on the robes of the Great Spirit! Gaze on it, and listen to
the story of Osseo!
"Long ago, in the days when the heavens were nearer to the earth than
they are now, and when the spirits and gods were better known to all
men, there lived a hunter in the Northland who had ten daughters, young
and beautiful, and as tall as willow-wands. Oweenee, the youngest of
these, was proud and wayward, but even fairer than her sisters. When the
brave and wealthy warriors came as suitors, each of the ten sisters had
many offers, and all except Oweenee were quickly married; but Oweenee
laughed at her handsome lovers and sent them all away. Then she married
poor, ugly old Osseo, who was bowed down with age, weak with coughing,
and twisted and wrinkled like the roots of an oak-tree. For she saw that
the spirit of Osseo was far more beautiful than were the painted figures
of her handsome lovers.
"All the suitors whom she had refused to marry, and they were many, came
and pointed at her with jeers and laughter, and made fun of her and of
her husband; but she said to them: 'I care not for your feathers and
your wampum; I am happy with Osseo.'
"It happened that the sisters were all invited to a great feast, and
they were walking together through the forest, followed by old Osseo and
the fair Oweenee; but while all the others chatted gayly, these two
walked in silence. Osseo often stopped to gaze at the Star of Evening,
and at last the others heard him murmur: 'Oh, pity me, pity me, my
Father!' 'He is praying to his father,' said the eldest sister. 'What a
shame that the old man does not stumble in the path and break his neck!'
and the others all laughed so heartily at the wicked joke that the
forest rang with merriment.
"On their way through the thicket, lay a hollow oak that had been
uprooted by a storm, and when Osseo saw it he gave a cry of anguish, and
leaped into the mighty tree. He went in an old man, ugly and bent and
hideous with wrinkles. He came out a splendid youth, straight as an
arrow, handsome and very strong. But Osseo was not happy in the change
that had come over him. Indeed, he was more sorrowful than ever before,
because at the same instant that he recovered his lost youth, Oweenee
was changed into a tottering old woman, wasted and worn and ugly as a
witch. And her nine hard-hearted sisters and their husbands laughed long
and loud, until the forest echoed once again with their wicked
merriment.
"Osseo, however, did not turn from Oweenee in her trouble, but took her
brown and withered hand, called her sweetheart and soothed her with kind
words, until they came to the lodge in the forest where the feast was
being given. They sat down to the feast, and all were joyous except
Osseo, who would taste neither food nor drink, but sat as if in a dream,
looking first at the changed Oweenee, then upward at the sky. All at
once he heard a voice come out of the empty air and say to him: 'Osseo,
my son, the spells that bound you are now broken, and the evil charms
that made you old and withered before your time have all been wished
away. Taste the food before you, for it is blessed and will change you
to a spirit. Your bowls and your kettles shall be changed to silver and
to wampum, and shine like scarlet shells and gleam like the firelight;
and all the men and women but Oweenee shall be changed to birds.'
"The voice Osseo heard was taken by the others for the voice of the
whippoorwill, singing far off in the lonely forest, and they did not
hear a word of what was said. But a sudden tremor ran through the lodge
where they sat feasting, and they felt it rise in the air high up above
the tree-tops into the starlight. The wooden dishes were changed into
scarlet shells, the earthen kettles were changed into silver bowls, and
the bark of the roof glittered like the backs of gorgeous beetles.
"Then Osseo saw that the nine beautiful sisters of Oweenee and their
husbands, were changed into all sorts of different birds. There were
jays and thrushes and magpies and blackbirds, and they flew about the
lodge and sang and twittered in many different keys. Only Oweenee was
not changed, but remained as wrinkled and old and ugly as before; and
Osseo, in his disappointment, gave a cry of anguish such as he had
uttered by the oak tree when lo and behold! all Oweenee's former youth
and loveliness returned to her. The old woman's staff on which she had
been leaning became a glittering silver feather, and her tattered dress
was changed into a snowy robe of softest ermine.
"The wigwam trembled once again and floated through the sky until at
last it alighted on the Evening Star as gently as thistledown drops to
the water, and the ruler of the Evening Star, the father of Osseo, came
forward to greet his son.
"'My son,' he said, 'hang the cage of birds that you bring with you at
the doorway of my wigwam, and then do you and Oweenee enter,' and Osseo
and Oweenee did as they were told, entered the wigwam and listened to
the words of Osseo's father.
"'I have had pity on you, my Osseo,' he began. 'I have given back to you
your youth and beauty; and I have changed into birds the sisters of
Oweenee and their husbands, because they laughed at you and could not
see that your spirit was beautiful. When you were an ugly old man, only
Oweenee knew your heart. But you must take heed, for in the little star
that you see yonder lives an evil spirit, the Wabeno; and it is he who
has brought all this sorrow upon you. Take care that you never stand in
the light of that evil star. Its gleams are used by the Wabeno as his
arrows, and he sits there hating all the world and darting forth his
poisonous beams of baleful light to injure all who stray within his
reach.'
"For many years Osseo and his father and Oweenee lived happily together
upon the Evening Star. Oweenee bore a son to Osseo, and the boy had
beauty and courage. Osseo, to please his son, made little bows and
arrows for him, and when the boy had learned to shoot, Osseo opened the
door of the silver bird-cage and let out all the birds. They darted
through the air, singing for joy at their freedom, until the boy bent
his bow and struck one of them with a fatal arrow, so that the bird fell
wounded at his feet. But when it touched the ground the bird underwent a
great change; and there lay at the boy's feet a beautiful young woman
with the arrow in her breast.
"As soon as her blood dripped upon the sacred Evening Star, all the
magical charms that Osseo's father had used to keep his son and Oweenee
with him in the happy dwelling far above the earth were broken, and the
boy hunter with his bow and arrow felt himself held by unseen hands, but
sinking downward through the blue sky and the empty air until he rested
on a green and grassy island in the Big-Sea-Water. Falling and
fluttering after him came all the bright birds; and the lodge, with
Osseo and Oweenee in it, sailed lightly downward and landed on the
island.
"When the bright birds touched the earth, another change came over them,
and they became men and women once again as they were before; only they
remained so small in size--so tiny, that they were called the Little
People, the Puk-Wudjies. And on summer nights, when the stars shone
brightly above them, they would dance hand in hand about the island, and
sometimes in the starlight they dance there even now."
When the story was finished, Iagoo looked about him at the assembled
guests, and added very solemnly: "There are many great men at whom their
own people often scoff and jeer. Let these people take warning from the
story of Osseo, so that they too may not be changed to birds for
laughing at their betters;" and the wedding guests all whispered to each
other, "I wonder if he means himself and us." Then Chibiabos sang
another sweet and tender love-song, and the guests all went away,
leaving Hiawatha alone and happy with Minnehaha.
XIII
BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS
MANY were the pleasant days that followed the wedding of Minnehaha and
Hiawatha. All the tribes were at peace with one another, and the hunters
roved wherever they chose, built their birch canoes, hunted and fished
and trapped the beaver without once hearing the war-cry or the hiss of a
hostile arrow. The women made sugar from the sap of the maple-trees,
gathered the wild rice and dressed the skins of the deer and beaver,
while all around the peaceful village waved green and sunny fields of
corn.
Once, when the corn was being planted by the women, the wise and
thoughtful Hiawatha said to Minnehaha: "To-night you shall bless the
cornfields, and draw around them a magic circle to keep out the mildew
and the insects. In the night, when everybody is asleep and none can
hear you or see you, rise from your bed, lay aside your clothes and walk
in the darkness around the fields of corn that you have planted. Do this
and the fields shall be more fruitful and the magic circle of your
footsteps cannot be crossed by either worm or insect; for the dragon-fly
and the spider, and the grasshopper and the caterpillar all will know
that you have walked around the cornfields, and they will not dare to
enter."
While Hiawatha spoke, Kahgahgee, King of the Ravens, sat with his band
of black robbers in the tree-tops near at hand, and they laughed so loud
at the words of Hiawatha that the tree-tops shook and rattled. "Kaw!"
shouted the ravens. "Listen to the wise man! Hear the plots of Hiawatha!
We will fly over the magic circle and eat just as much corn as we can
hold."